


Christmas

by CastielsCarma



Series: Destiel ABC [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas Crack, Christmas fic, M/M, Physical Abuse, Satan!Dean, elf!cas, just mentioned, not between dean and cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:01:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21640021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastielsCarma/pseuds/CastielsCarma
Summary: Dean, Satan and ruler of Hell is feeling victorious. Finally, he had a Christmas wishlist from a child in hand. He is ready to do his proxy Santa duties (not that he really likes Christmas but hey, he has letters). Santa Claus is not in his most trusting mood though. He demands that Dean is accompanied by a chaperone, the elf Castiel.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Destiel ABC [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559902
Comments: 11
Kudos: 78





	Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Long overdue, this is my third installment in my ABC'S of Destiel series.
> 
> Slightly cracky, a tad serious and with Christmas joy (or not according to Dean) hopefully sprinkled throughout. Merry (early) Christmas.

Christmas was around the corner, snow covered the rooftops, shit sparkled and it was finally Dean's time to shine. Grinning, he grabbed the list tightly and flashed himself to Santa's place.

Santa Claus was reading through a huge stack of letters, each one bursting with the hopeful enthusiasm only a child could have. Kids. You either loved them or ate them.

Elves and fairies were milling around the place, doing Santa's every bidding. Dean frowned. He didn't know what kind of hold Santa had on them but it had to be something. He remembered the old days and ways when kids feared elves and fairies. Now they were reduced to Santa's personal helpers and kids actually looked forward to seeing them. Supposedly they spread holiday cheer and crap like that. Dean would cheer too, when Christmas was over.

Dean sauntered over to Santa, who sat in that ridiculous chair made of candy canes and caramels. He was surprised that Santa hadn't gotten stuck yet. Dean mused if he should superglue Santa's ass to the chair. Let him ho-ho-ho himself out of that.

White hair that was nearly blinding to look at, a huge white beard that spilled down his chest and laughter that sounded like big birds chirping. He was the male equivalent of an over the top lumber Jack version of Snow White. 

The truth was that Santa was ripped. No beer gut, old guy wrinkles, and fleshy cheeks. Rather, he looked like he had spent countless hours at the gym. Probably lifting wheels of cheese and caskets of mulled wine. He was tall too. Dean had to actually look up at the guy, and nothing rubbed Dean the wrong way than having to look up at people, especially Mister Christmas Spirit over there.

Sometimes Dean suspected that Santa Claus had some giant genes swirling around in that hot body of his. Dean would rather pour some spirits in the guy and turn his ho-ho-ho's into oh-oh-oh's.

Santa didn't miss Dean entering his abode. The carefully crafted ice carving Santa had of himself had started to sweat water droplets. A tiny pool of liquid was forming at the base but it was Santa's laughter shriveling up like a sad cock meeting the icy winter winds that alerted Dean to the fact that his presence was very much known.

“What are you doing here?” Santa rose up and to Dean's eternal disappointment, the chair didn't get stuck. Didn't really matter. Santa already acted like he had a candy cane stuck up his ass.

“I have something for... well, me.” Dean grinned and swirled a fingertip lazily around one of his black horns. He extended his hand, offering the wish-lists to Santa Claus.

Elves were still walking along, going this way and that way. At least they didn't have those ridiculous bells the reindeer had attached to their horns. What a stupid idea. Let's be stealthy, oh here, Prancer, have a giant ass bell tied to you that chimes every time you even think of moving. Apparently, it was 'cozy and seasonal'. Someone, please kill him.

One elf, a tall woman with red hair glared daggers at him as if his mere presence was sucking the joy out of Santa's dominion. They didn't have to worry about that.

Dean glanced at the gingerbread cookies piled up in baskets, toys – dolls, puzzles, stuffed animals – forming mountains along the walls and heaps of bicycles, tricycles, and unicycles. He searched for motorcycles but couldn't find any.

Typical.

Santa grabbed the letter and towered over Dean as he quickly read through it. His dark eyes narrowed. “I can handle a few spelling mistakes. Their spirits won't be crushed.”

Dean snatched the letters from Santa's hands. “They're not addressed to you, so kindly fuck off.”

“You know very well as I, Dean, that these are misspelled.”

Satan, aka Dean, turned on his heel. “Nope, I don't know that.” He glared at an elf that had obliviously been staring at him and hissed. The elf scampered off, carrying his load of slinkies. Who the fuck wished for slinkies nowadays?

Turning again, he stared at Santa. His beard was really lustrous, and Dean wondered absentmindedly if he used any conditioner in it. “I'm Satan and if memory serves me right, the letters said 'Dear Satan'. Don't wanna disappoint the little brats, do we?” Dean smiled as Santa Claus' lips pulled down and a spark of anger flared up in his eyes. Merry Christmas, you big oaf.

Santa Claus walked back and forth, his eyes flying over the content of the letters. Finally, he looked up, determination in his eyes. “Fine. But you will behave and bring forth the very essence of Christmas joy. Be like me and less like... you.”

“I'll wear a bell in my horns,” Dean drawled. “Hell, you can clean my special horn if you like.”

Behind him, Dean heard a thud as a body of an elf slumped down in shook at the words uttered. Delicate Christmas creatures.

Santa Claus ignored Dean's crude language. “I will not let you destroy an ancient tradition. You will be accompanied by an elf.”

Dean crossed his arms. “I don't need a fucking chaperone.”

“Oh, but you do. Castiel is my most trusted elf. He'll make sure you do remember that you're a stand-in for me. And he'll remind you that you'll bring with you the merriest of Christmas spirits.”

Walking over to an alcove, Dean grabbed a glass of mulled wine and swiped its contents. He clenched his jaws in annoyance. Would it kill Santa to have some alcohol in it? His thoughts were interrupted when Santa Claus bellowed.

“Ah, Castiel, my most trusted of elves. I have a mission for you.”

Castiel, Cas from now on and apparently Santa's unknown sidekick, appeared from a fucking open fireplace. Suddenly, Dean missed the fiery pits of Hell. Snow. It was unnatural.

Dean, as the true ruler of Hell, enjoyed volcanic fires, long torture sessions and the screams of the undying souls. Not unlike some preschools actually that he'd visited back in the day when he'd been doing house calls. If little Benny invoked the name of Satan, Satan was what he would get. Surprise motherfu – 

“Demonic enforcer and aggressive nefariousness, hello. I'm Castiel.”

Hello, Castiel, I'm intrigued, Dean thought with amusement. He stood his ground and waited until the head elf approached him. He stopped short of a few inches in front of Dean.

Dean inhaled and smirked when Cas' eyes widened. It was subtle but Dean was very attuned to how people reacted to him. “I do love the old names but since you're the head honcho over Santa land and not a Sindar or Silvan, Dean will do. So you've been assigned to be my personal groupie.” He grinned. “You should come to the dark side. We have cookies.”

Cas' blue eyes narrowed and he tilted his head slightly, like a goddamn bobblehead. “Cookies are a detriment to children's oral health.”

Dean grabbed Castiel's chin and tilted it up slightly. “You're hardly a child, my immortal Legolas wannabe. I'll give you oral... health.”

Cas yanked his chin free and took a step back, his blue eyes ice cold.

Hot.

Dean was on the verge of saying something when Jingles interrupted them.

“Christmas spirit, remember. Be merry and bright.”

Cas arched an eyebrow at Santa Claus remark, all the while his gaze rested on Dean.

Oh, Santa's lapdog questioned if Dean could be merry and bright. He would show him. He would show Santa, all of them. Dean would be brighter than a fucking nuclear blast.

“I'll be merry. Now, Cas. Show me the way to Prancer, Dancer and Financer.” He noticed that the ridiculous Santa statue had reverted back to its natural liquid state. Good.

Castiel just sighed and turned around.

“Don't think I'll do the fucking chimney trick, Cas. At least Satan has some dignity.”

Cas was already out through the door.

Dean was looking at Cas tending to the reindeers.

The animals seemed to be well taken care of, for being slaves under kids' consumerism whims. Not only did they have to carry gifts all over the world but also a Santa built like a fucking mountain.

Dean looked over at Cas, who was leaning in over a stable door, some oats in his hands. The pose and angle would have been something to admire if not for the red feet length coat with a sparkling hem at the very bottom. And despite looking like a tree topper in the flesh, Dean had to admit there was something… alluring with Cas.

“So, Cas, which one of these emaciated cows is my ride? I'm not picky. I'll take either, even though Rudolph is king. The other deers were kind of assholes to him.”

Cas stiffened and turned towards Dean. He had a new look on his face that Dean hadn't seen before. Lips set, chapped lips yes, but Dean could kiss them wet and pliable. He stopped his thoughts. Where in the Nine Hells had that thought come from?

Sure, corrupting a fucking Santa elf was tantalizing, but kissing? Satan didn't kiss people. People kissed him. Yeah, the elf was hot, Dean had eyes, but kissing veered into sappy territory. Dean was king of the Realm of Anguish and the unquestioned ruler of the Hall of Tears. The hall was more the size of a medium bathroom in an upper-class home than a hall but that was beside the point.

“We're not taking the deers. You have what, three letters?” Cas explained. “This trip won't be so lengthy, so I'll use my powers to teleport you to the destination.”

Dean adjusted his shirt. “Powers, mm? Well, go ahead then. Can't keep my children waiting.”

“Your children?”

Dean clicked with his tongue in annoyance, feeling his eyes turn dark. “What? Don't think Satan can take care of kids? And yeah, they're mine. Wrote me a list, didn't they?”

“You do realize that they were hoping for Santa?”

Shrugging, Dean grabbed Cas' hand. “Satan is an upgrade from Santa. And you're awfully grouchy for being an elf.” Dean trailed a finger down Cas' cheek before tugging at it. “Smile.”

Cas stepped away from the touch. “Are you always this – “

“Amazing, deliciously hot, worthy of worship?” Dean smiled as Cas flustered.

“That's not what I meant.”

Dean's eyes flashed darkly. “But you're not objecting either.”

Cas grabbed Dean's arm.

“Oh, physical contact. I like where this is going. Falalalala fellatio.” Dean raised a meaningful eyebrow.

“There will be children present where we are going. Behave. And I'm not... attracted to you.”

“Not even a little? You don't feel that Christmas joy boiling in your veins, making your blood run hotter as you look at me?” Your peppermint lips aching for a kiss and your blue eyes widening at the mere thought of us together?”

Dean could see Cas fluster and the red staining his cheeks brought out the azure of his eyes. At that moment an unwanted thought weaseled its way inside Dean's mind. An urge to grab Cas' hand, not to maim it or crush it but just to hold it emerged.

The sappy thought brought Dean back to the present. He fucking hated Christmas. And now he'd definitely been at Santa's for too long. If he was not careful he'd suddenly develop an urge to do charitable events and bake gingerbread cookies. He'd rather get baked.

“I.., you're Satan.” Cas let go of Dean.

Dean frowned. “So what, you don't find me attractive due to my name? Just call me Dean then. Problem solved.”

“It's not that. Besides, I'm an elf.”

“Ah, I see. Is it the horns? It's always the horns. Would it help if I put some tinsel on them? I know you elves get all hot and bothered in the proximity of decorations.”

“I'm more than just an elf.” Cas' words were clipped.

“Yeah, ditto CandyCas.”

Cas gritted his teeth.

“Hey, that's not very jolly of you. It's fucking colder than Kelios' heart out here, so are we going or not? My kids are waiting to be awed.”

“You're impossible.” Cas grabbed Dean's arm again. “Think of your... child and close your eyes. Your thoughts will take us there.”

“I wish my other thoughts would take you there. Know what I mean?” Dean laughed and figured he'd teased the elf enough. Cas would probably have an aneurysm if Dean continued. He closed his eyes and thought of his first Christmas child.

The living room was small but cozy if one liked that kind of stuff. Not that Dean did but he was sure Cas was getting his rocks off seeing all the Christmas ornaments, the tree so tall that it almost touched the ceiling and the bowl of nuts on the table.

Dean walked over to the bowl and grabbed a walnut. Crushing the shell, he tossed the nut in his mouth and chewed. “So what now? I just conjure stuff up?”

“No. Protocol is to be followed,” Cas explained. “You have the list to guide you. But you can choose the wrapping paper.”

“Oh, joy. Wrapping paper.” Dean pulled out the list.

“You know, a lot of kids really like Christmas.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, and a lot of kids hate it.” He would know. His personal playtime – which involved using toys such as knives, hot pokers, and needles – had been done on souls that had been particularly nasty around the holidays.

“That might be so. But our task will bring those children some joy.”

“I could impale their tormentors with a spear. That would bring us both some joy.”

Cas sat down on the couch. “Get on with it, we don't have all night.”

Dean looked at Timmy's wishlist. Timmy. Such a cliche name but he was Dean's kid and if Timmy wanted to be a cliche, he would turn him into an extraordinary cliche. The list contained generic crap: a toy car, crayons, a stuffed animal and a puppy.

“I think it and it just pops up?”

“Yes, transferred from Santa's workshop.” Cas smiled, like the very thought of the workshop made him homesick.

“And my thoughts work like... the spark setting things in motion?”

“Yes.”

Dean closed his eyes and brought forth the first three gifts. They appeared neatly wrapped with a bow tie on top. Black and red paper because those colors ruled.

Cas stood up from the couch. “Good! On to the next house.”

The elf's voice, Dean realized suddenly, was very gravely and it did things to Dean. He was not, not at all, interested in examining those things closer. “Hold on. Timmy wished for a puppy too.”

Sighing, Cas took a step forward. “Don't make any fuss now, Satan.” He sounded exasperated more than angry.

“Oh, it's Satan now, is it? Not Dean but Satan? Look here, this is my wishlist, well, the kids' wishlists, but they called for me, correct?”

Cas exhaled harshly and rolled his eyes before nodding.

Dean nodded. “Yes. So I grant the wishes and no fucking child of mine is gonna have a wish on that list not granted.” Dean flexed his fingers and extended his claws. “Any questions?”

“Be gone claws.” Cas waved his hand towards Dean and to his horror Dean's claws vanished, only to be replaced by well-manicured fingernails.

“What the fuck is this?”

“Threatening an elf is hardly merry and jolly, Dean. So I removed the threat to Christmas joy.”

Dean glared as his hands, then at Cas. “You're a threat to my joy. Nice trick, neatly trimmed nails, but little Timmy is getting a puppy.”

Cas sighed. “You're impossible. We don't have puppies or any live animals at the workshop.”

Walking over to the bowl with nuts, Dean grabbed a few more. “Don't you worry your pretty, kissable face about that. Just chill.”

Closing his eyes, Dean conjured forth a special place in Hell, a den deeply hidden where only he and the other Hellhounds could go. He thought of the smallest puppy, the size of a pony or a Grand Danois, sure, that would work and when he opened his eyes, it was there in the living room.

Cas gaped. “You can't leave this... creature in here with Timmy. He'll kill him.”

Dean made a disgusted sound. “Who do you take me for? A savage?”

“Well, you are Satan... “

“If you are so worried, why don't you go ahead and bless him with, I don't know... the holy joy of Christmas, or some eggnog? See if that works.” Dean smiled, showing his teeth. “Do it, I dare you.”

Walking up to the pony-sized dog, that had already left a puddle of drool on the floor, Cas touched the dog on the forehead, confidence in his every movement. “If you so much as touch a hair on Timmy, I'll come back and smite you. With a candy cane.”

Dean tried not to nod approvingly, apparently, Cas had some balls bigger than Christmas ornaments. It was kind of hot too. And sweet.

“Despair. You be a good boy, now. Eating humans bad. Dog food good. Oh, and lay off with the invisibility thing.”

Despair barked once, then plopped down on the floor.

Pleased, Dean grabbed Cas' hand. “Now we can leave.”

Instead of anger, a smile ghosted at Cas' lips and Dean knew in his ancient bones something sweet and kind was on its way. “That was very nice of you, Dean. You are getting the feel of Christmas. Caring and sharing what you have with your loved ones – “

“Shut up, Cas.”

The second house was situated on some hills, a modest building that consisted of what appeared to be two rooms and a kitchen. Looking around, Dean didn't see any of the usual decorations for Christmas. It looked like it was business as usual. Finally, a house that hadn't succumbed to the other crap that was Christmas carols and frosted cookies.

“Second house, you are doing good.” Cas' smile was plastered on his face like Dean had accomplished something amazing.

“Don't get your bells all jingly, I'm still going back to my old gig afterward \\.”

Cas sat down on the floor, cross-legged. After a beat of silence, he spoke. “Do you enjoy it?”

Dean ignored the closed door that led to the bedroom and only peeked into the kitchen. No trees, no lights, no nothing. He walked up the two bookcases. Some books, shiny vases, who needed more than two vases anyway and a bunch of what appeared to be family photos. Two adults and a scrawny kid looking more like a sparrow than a human stared back at him. Dean turned his back on them.

“Do I enjoy it? What? Torturing souls until they're nothing more than a shivering, whimpering mess of pain? Mm, after a couple of millennia the novelty wears off. And all the stray souls, it's fucking annoying.” Dean let out a frustrated breath.” You're getting ready to dig into a murdering asshole or someone who clearly didn't understand the meaning of 'No, I don't wanna fuck you' and instead you are greeted by some poor guy that fucked another guy. Or ... people who did tax evasions.” 

Sitting down next to Cas, Dean flipped out a claw and started mindlessly flexing them against the elf's robe. “It's such a hassle sending them back to heaven. But off they go.”

“That's very kind of you.”

Dean let out a small laughter. “What would you do? Just let them rot? Fine, do I really want to keep some of the tax evasion ones? Hell yeah, but it's just a misdemeanor. Sometimes I give them a slap on the wrist, put the fear of Satan in them before I send them off.”

His eyes flipped to black. “And some of them I keep there for a week or two. The ones that think their... proclivities do not earn them a place in Heaven.” Dean smiled, shaking his head. “I do all sorts of things to them, with them, fulfill their deepest desires. I heard Heaven is kind of a dry place. So, it's a favor really.”

Cas finally noticed what Dean was doing to his robe and yanked it away. 

Shrugging, Dean looked at Cas. Pretty features for being an elf. “What? I made it better. You can tie those little bells you're so fond of at the ends. Do a twirl and exude Christmas scents, like cinnamon and nutmeg.”

“I'm a warrior, I don't twirl.”

“Really? Santa has warriors. To protect him from what? Last time I looked, he seems like a big guy. Besides, he sneezes and people get all dooey eyed and start reciting Michael Bublé. At least go with the classics.”

Cas finally gave up on fixing the ribbons. “Oh, there are powers out there that want Santa gone. Krampus, a demon here and there and the unicorns.”

Dean blinked. “The unicorns?”

“It's a long story. And fulfilling the need to be with loved ones, people that care for you, that is the true spirit of Christmas. Even for the children that consciously don't know it. Each gingerbread cookie, each present, each pat on the back, each smile in good company makes their heart grow bigger. Everyone needs that.”

Dean could feel Cas look at him, trying to convey some secret message that was written all over his face. “What? You think I need to grow my heart or some bullshit like that? I'm Satan, ruler of Hell. I don't need a heart.”

Cas looked at him, a sorrowful expression on his face. “Who do you turn to when you need to talk to someone in confidence?”

Dean tried not to get offended. He knew that voice. The one that pretended to care, only to dig deeper and rip out all your weaknesses right when you opened up your heart. Great torture technique. Not like he'd ever experienced that, caring or being tortured. The vast majority of souls, dead or alive hardly felt like spilling their guts and befriending Dean. Being the King of Hell was a solo position. “I turn to the wisest, most handsome, and frankly funniest guy I know.” Dean grinned. “Me.”

The elf still had that stupid my-heart-is-bleeding-for-you expression on his face. 

A huge sigh escaped Dean, tinged with anger and frustration. “What do you want me to say, Cas? That I want someone that talks to me without cowering in fear or disgust? Someone that listens to me? Someone that can decorate my dungeon for me?”

Cas licked his lips, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “You have a dungeon?”

Dean laughed as he definitely pushed down that weird tug at his heart. He also most certainly ignored the small voice in the back of his head that poked at him, whispering 'This, you want this'. Those kinds of things were fleeting for most, and for Dean, Wicked Ruler of Down Below, it was an impossibility. “I have two dungeons.”

A tingle of something went through him, as Cas placed his hand on his arm. It was a nice looking hand, for belonging to an elf. “You can have all that.” 

Dean looked down at Cas' hand and then up at those blue eyes that had something akin to... He would not name that emotion, he didn't need it. A gentle squeeze sent currents of electricity through him. “Are you using some kind of merry mojo on me, um, some holiday hypnosis?”

“No, Dean. It's called being a friend.”

The power of friendship. Great. Suddenly he felt like he was in a My Little Pony movie. Yet those words did something to him that he didn't dare utter yet. It was at the tip of his tongue, ready to spill forth but he clamped his mouth shut. “Alright, kid number two.”

Dean glanced at the list and sighed. “Anya, my Anya.” It was just one sentence. Food for her family. Starting to crinkle the paper, he saw that there were things that had been erased. He got up.

“Cas, lights.”

With the lamp on, Dean could finally decipher the scribblings that had been erased. A toy horse, a dress for mom, black shiny shoes for dad and paper and crayons.

“Second child, please. If Santa worked at this rate, Christmas would be doomed.” 

“Shut up, Cas. I'm Christmas spirit incarnated.” Alright, now he just needed to conjure the things. He began with the food, filling Anya's fridge with all kinds of goodness. A huge turkey, boiled potatoes, dried fish, hams and cheeses, pecan pie, apple pie, banana pie, cinnamon pie, and toffee pie. You could never have too many fucking pies.

Just to be sure, Dean went into the kitchen and checked the fridge. It was more stuffed than a turkey on Thanksgiving. Perfect. Noticing the small cupboard he conjured up a huge array of canned foods. Sausages, meats, pickled fish, vegetables and even those disgusting canned pineapples. That guy had been truly tortured in Hell. Not really for the cans, he'd been a creep but with the invention of canned pineapples, he'd earned another round of torture.

Cracking his knuckles, Dean strolled back into the living room. Closing his eyes, he manifested the horse, dress, shoes and a truckload of paper and crayons. He added in a collection of My Little Ponies too. Perfect.

Cas ran up to him, alarm in his face. “No! You can't do that. Protocol, Dean. We have to follow the wish lists and the children's wishes. This was not on the list.”

“Yeah, it was. It was just erased. So technically it was there. What's Santa gonna do? Steal my candy canes? Bu-fucking-hu.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Cas opened them up a few moments later. “You are giving me a ton of paperwork.” 

He had a pout to his lips that Dean realized showed when he was pissed. It was cute.

“Santa is not gonna like this.”

“Well, they didn't write the lists to Santa, now did they? Don't worry, Cas. Satan has their back. I take care of my own.”

“They're not your kids.”

Dean turned and grinned. “They are now. Lucky number three, here we go.” When he noticed that Cas was just standing there, he snapped his fingers. “Chop, chop, Cassie.” Cas gave him a glare. Good. Apparently, he was not all sugar and sweetness. Cas, the chaperone elf, had some bite. Dean liked bite.

Cas held out his arm and Dean grabbed it. He rested two fingers against Cas' naked wrist, feeling the pulse beat there wildly. Everything turned dark.

The third kid was drenched in Christmas crap. And loaded as fuck. The house was most definitely bigger than his Hall of Tears which made him shake his head in disbelief. Fucking unbelievable.

Marble halls to the left and right, sparkly ornaments in every window and what looked like glorified fanart of Santa hanged on every wall. Plush carpets muted his footfalls and he glimpsed a huge soft couch, a pool table and an open fireplace big enough to stand tall in. As Dean continued his walk through the house he counted not one, not two but three Christmas trees.

“Alright, Cas, let's go. This kid has everything.”

A hand on his chest stopped him. Dean exhaled, trying to will his heart to chill. Cas looked at him with those ridiculous eyes. They were so blue that Dean was not sure they were his own. “Tell me, Cas, did a kid wish those eyes for you? Maybe someone sold their soul for that color? Oh wait, I would have known that.” No soulselling then.

Cas blinked, confusion washing over his face. “Uh, the eyes are my own. But thanks.” He immediately went back to business, a scowl on his face and his hand pressed harder on Dean's chest. Kinky. “Every child that writes to Santa gets a visit. You can't bend that rule. No matter your personal preferences.”

Dean angled himself so his mouth was close to Cas' ear. “I'll tell you all about my personal preferences, Cas.”

Suddenly something else caught his attention. It was something he knew all too well. The subtle thrumming of darkness, this one whispering of heartache and deep pain. Intermingled through it all were confusion, shame and faint tendrils of love. Dean followed the trail, up some fucking gilded stairs – really, gold and marble – until he caught the vibrations of another darkness. This one called to him, an ocean of blackness with whispy notes of joy here and there and over it all, a sickly slick sheen of pride that made his claws come out. 

He turned to follow the stronger pull until he stood outside a pair of white double doors. Quietly, he opened them and walked inside.

A white soft carpet, rich curtains, fancy lamps and probably a bunch of other material crap adorned the room but Dean only had eyes on the huge oak bed in front of him. The darkness thrummed within him and his hands itched to grab something; a knife, a scalpel, an ax. Something. This was his kind of Christmas. 

Peering down, he saw a figure sleeping, snoring softly. He inhaled deeply and exhaled sharply in frustration. She was not the one. 

Dean walked to the other side of the bed and he could feel the slick sheen of pride, he could taste the blackness on his tongue. Focusing his attention on a walk-in wardrobe next to the empty side of the bed, he picked up a man's shirt. The whole space made his body thrum. This was it. Just to be sure, he inhaled again. The scent Dean caught, made his nose wrinkle in disgust. Still holding the shirt in one hand, he teleported back to Cas.

“What are you doing? We don't have time to skulk around.” Cas apparently noticed that Dean was not in his most peachy of moods cause his voice turned serious. “What's wrong, Dean?”

Closing his eyes, Dean called forth the third child's wishlist. As he opened the list, four burning words greeted him. Peace and quiet. Jack. “Nothing is wrong. I'm just about the grant Jack his wishes. Stay put, Cas. I'll be back in a jiff.” Connected to the psychic trail of the owner of the shirt, Dean inhaled the vile scent again. 

He exhaled and the muted sounds of some awful disco music could be heard through the walls. The night club didn't have the best-soundproofed walls but that didn't bother Dean in the slightest. 

A flushing sound escaped from one of the stalls and then a man walked out, heading towards the sinks to wash his hands. The darkness pulsated in Dean and all he could feel from the man in front of him was that nauseating smell of pride. 

Dean turned the man around with a not so gentle hand on his shoulder. The man cried out in surprise and then grunted and exhaled sharply as Dean slammed him into the wall. Wrapping one hand around the man's throat, Dean squeezed. Not so hard that he choked him, but hard enough so the guy knew he meant business. He had a reputation to uphold after all.

“You don't know me, but I know you.”

The man wheezed, trying to say something. Dean let go of the man. The man grabbed his throat, coughing and wheezing. “What – ell, man?!” His eyes widened when he noticed that Dean had horns.

Dean grinned. “Nick, it's Nick, right? Pretty horns, you think, mm? I have something else that's pretty and sharp.” Dean splayed his hand on Nick's chest again and pushed him back against the wall. Arching his fingers over Nick's heart, he flexed out his claws as his eyes turned black. He ignored the sound and smell as Nick's bladder let go.

“Now, you listen to me, Nick.” He pushed his claws in slightly, enjoying how the shirt and then skin gave way to the sharpness. The disgusted prideful scent had vanished and although the darkness was still there, beating weakly, fear now permeated the air. “Say something if you can hear me, maybe a yes, or try to nod.”

Nick wheezed out air.

“Mm, cat got your tongue? I'm feeling generous today – it's Christmas after all – so let's pretend that was a yes.” Dean pushed in his hand, just a tad more.

Nick screamed but Dean really didn't have the patience for that. He covered Nick's mouth. “Shh, don't scream, or I'll the pain you feel now I'll give back tenfold.” 

Nick's eyes widened.

“Yeah, that's what you tell Jack, right? Getting off on hurting your own son? Know this. I have a spot in Hell saved just for you. I would have taken you right now but I'm already stretching your son's wish.”

Tears started streaming down Nick's cheeks, and soon Dean's hand was all wet. Fucking disgusting. Sure, he was Satan and on one level, he enjoyed all tears but at the moment he wanted to pluck the bastard's eyes out.

“Pmmssh,” the man begged.

“Shh.” Dean pushed in his claws more, enjoying the feel of blood seeping between his fingers, the frantic beating of Nick's heart, the acrid stench of piss and fear. Leaning in, Dean spoke calmly. “If you ever touch your son in anger again, if you so much as lay a fucking finger on him, I'll come back for you. And I will rip your filthy heart right out of your chest. You understand?” He let go of Nick's mouth.

“Yes,” Nick whispered faintly.

“Thank you. Oh, and merry fucking Christmas.” Dean tightening his fist and punched the asshole in the face. 

As Nick slumped down on the floor, Dean teleported back to Cas.

“There, now that didn't take so long, did it?” Dean wiped off his bloody fist on a curtain. 

“Where were you?!” Cas was visibly upset and slammed his hand on Dean's chest, shoving him backward. Dean might have allowed that shove.

“Aww, I was gone just a few minutes and you go into full panic mode. Admit you like me.” Cas was so close to him that their chest rose and fell in unison.

Cas' eyebrows were drawn down in anger, and he exhaled forcefully. “I did not panic. You're just... a wild card and I was ordered to be your chaperone.”

“I took care of Jack's wish. Made sure he got peace and quiet. Do I get a cookie now?” He saw the puzzled look in Cas' face, how he debated if he should trust the big bad Satan. Dean noticed Cas' hand relax on his chest and he curled his lips in a smile. 

“Did you – ?”

“Hurt him? Just a smudge. Asshole deserved to have his guts ripped out. But I followed your stupid protocol. Consider this my Christmas present to you.” Dean pressed forward and Cas took a step back, letting his hand fall down.

“I thought you didn't like Christmas.”

Dean snorted. “Don't delude yourself. I hate it.”

There was suddenly a gleam in Cas' eyes and he took an infinitesimal step forward, right back in Dean's face. “Do you hate everything about Christmas?”

“I do hate the stupid fucking songs that go on repeat in ad nauseum. Santa is an uptight, hot but still uptight prick. I hate the snow, what the fuck even is frozen rain? I don't like all the ornaments, and I hate Marta Stewart and her fifty ways of folding a fucking napkin.”

Cas arched an eyebrow at the last comment. “Very well. What do you like about Christmas, Dean?”

Nothing was the instinctual reply but Dean knew that was a lie. And for some reason, he didn't want to lie... much to Cas. He took Christmas seriously, it was his very own Super Bowl.

“I like.” Fucking hell, someone shot him, he was really going to say this. “I like Christmas movies.”

Cas smiled and waited like he knew there was more. 

Dean sighed. “I like the really sappy ones. Where they meet and drink hot chocolate and there is a fucking ice skating rink, and someone falls over, and they wear striped pajamas.”

“And?”

As the King of Hell, Dean had the patience of a saint but right now he had to clench his fist not to do something stupid. “I kind of like an elf but I'm trying really hard not to strangle him right now.”

“He must be angry, that elf.”

Dean blinked. “How so?”

Cas grabbed one of Dean's horns and angled his head down so the whispered words could reach Dean's ear. “An idiot cut his robe into ribbons.”

“The idiot must have been filled with Christmas joy. Ribbons and bells go great together.”

Laughing, Castiel took a step back. “It must have been so.” He peered at Dean, a curious expression on his face. “So, ready to head back home, Dean?”

“I will not call Santa's oversized gingerbread house home. Home is where Hell is. But I'm ready to cash in on my reward.”

Cas extended his arm towards Dean, a smile playing on his lips. “There is no reward. The true gift of Christmas is the joyous reward of giving.”

“What a crappy reward. So, will you...?”

“Will I what?” Cas was all smiles and joy and played innocence.

Shaking his head, Dean mumbled under his breath. “I'm the fucking ruler of Hell, Satan, bringer of pain...” He looked up at Cas. “Alright, alright. “Will you...drink hot chocolate with me?”

“Is it a date?”

Save him from evil stubborn as Hell elves. Where they not supposed to be jolly and meek and timid? No, not Cas, cause he was a fucking warrior elf. “Yes, Cas, a date. You and me. Dry Christmas cake, hot chocolate, we can even knit a fucking Christmas sweater together.”

“A date it is then.”

Dean couldn't help the grin that tugged at his lips. “Good.”

Just before Cas flashed them back, he tilted his head and asked. “You like Christmas now, Dean?”

The answer came immediately. “I hate it.”


End file.
